/ as if everything were bigger than me, as if I were in over my head, trying to han- dle the kind of situation that, when I was rich, I would take to like a duck to water. But things settled quickly once she sat down, and I was glad to have the drink because I felt a bit cotton-mouthed. I had gone from my first impulse about getting into her pants to fearing that she'd try to get into mine. I'm not much of a drinker; water would have served as well. That summer I'd made an experimental jaunt into a local bar. I felt that I needed to learn to be more social. I struck up a conversa- tion with a somber, middle-aged fellow in a rumpled suit. He looked so gloomy that I regaled him with what I felt were uplifting accounts of my struggles at school. He stared at me for a while, until I sensed that all the timing was going out of my conversation. Finally, he said, "Hey boss, I gotta go: you're creeping " me out. " N " T O d " 1 ' th ow, essa sa!, et s start at e beginning: what do you think being a doctor will do for you?" " I d ' kn " M on tow. y answer came out so quickly she looked startled. She leaned back into the sofa-she was at one end, I at the other-with her elbow propped on the back of it and her fingers \ - parting the hair on the side of her head. "You don't know?" "I wish I did. Sorry." I involuntarily sang out this last word. "N 0, that's all right. That's fine. If you don't want to talk about it, I'm O.K. with that." I didn't share the image I had of my- self: still dark-haired but with a graying mustache, marching up the gangplank of a yacht. I kept looking into my drink as if it were a teleprompter and I were the President of the United States. The colorful liquid seemed like something I had found and would have to turn in. I don't know why I made people so un- comfortable. As a kind of icebreaker, I thought to ask her a question. "When people use the expression 'Rest in peace,' do you think they have some basis for saying it, or is it just wish- ful thinking?" I can't imagine what made me think that she'd have the answer to this dole- ful conundrum. But surely my mother's poor health was on my mind. "You mean, about the dead?" " s " ure. Tessa looked at me for a very long time before saying anything. "You know, let's try this another time. Maybe it's you, maybe it's me, but -. . t. _., "Could you take your finger off the pulse for one moment and let me know what you'd like for dinner'?" at this point in time and space it's just not happening." I backed out of there like a crab. I felt sorry for Tessa; she'd probably have trou- ble sleeping after this weird visit from the new neighbor. I just didn't know what to do about it-an apology from me would have made it all seem even weirder. T hereafter, we sometimes ran into each other in the hallway between our apartments, and things did not get any less awkward. I made increasingly maladroit attempts to be cordial, at- tempts that were received with growing skepticism, even revulsion. Finally, upon seeing me, Tessa would dart into her apartment and slam her door. What was strange is that if I lingered in the hallway after she'd gone inside, I always, mo- ments later, heard her phone ring. Once she said to me, "I know you're tracking my movements." And another time, "Don't think you're fooling me." And another, a cry: "Please stop!" "Stop what?" A mirthless laugh followed and a slammed door. I made every effort to avoid these en- counters. Indeed, I did start tracking her movements, in order to avoid her. She headed upstairs to work for Hoxey at exactly nine, out for the mail at ten- thirty, lunch with Hoxey in his apart- ment, catered by Mountain Foodstuff: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, out to lunch Tuesday and Thursday but al- ways back by one-thirty, U.P.S. and FedEx and other outbound packages at four 0' dock, and then her workday was over. On the weekends, I really didn't have a pattern of her activities and ner- vously came and went from my apart- ment. When she had men over, they seemed to linger around my door as if they were on the lookout for me. One afternoon, a strapping man positioned himself as though to actually block my way. I gave him a big smile and pushed past. He smelled like motor oil. He said, "Hello, Doc." Tessa must have told him that I was in premed. I said hello. I was glad to get inside and, when I looked through the little spy hole in the door, I was looking into his ear. Concentrating on the help-wanted ads calmed me down. I had discovered that I needed to look for work in other towns, as people in Livingston knew